Cologne Bottles
by Delle Tuh
Summary: You can skyrocket away from me and never come back if you find another galaxy, far from here with more room to fly, just leave me your stardust to remember you by. A Bella and sort-of Charlie story of loss and memory.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Twilight._

**Author's Note: **This story has been collecting dust in my computer for awhile. I wrote it after I moved in with my boyfriend, Justin. My mother and I had to go through the basement, and we found something that made her, my brother, and myself almost cry. My dad's old cologne bottle. I had kept it, not wanting to let it go. I still have an old shirt of his in the dresser beside me. He died almost eleven years ago, and I needed to convey some of those old feelings. The story, of the bear and the cologne, is mine. It is real and I forgot about it before this story. I needed to write this, I suppose. However short and abrupt it is. That very cologne bottle sits proudly on my entertainment center, and every once in a while, I'll pull the top and smell him. It keeps me close, because I hardly remember him at all. It's the little things, like a cologne bottle and a stuffed animal, or the fact that we both love embellishing our things in pins and patches, or even that we have the same effect on my mother, we both make her laugh when she's crying. Do I want him back? Yes. But for one reason and one reason only. My mother. This is for her, and for him. I need to keep his memory alive. Thank you for listening to me ramble. It made me feel a little better writing this long thing. I love you, Dad. And hopefully, you love me too. Join the review revolution and review. -Delta

**Cologne Bottles**

It's been years.

Years since the chemo.

Years since the hospital bills and Carlisle's false hope.

Years since I had even been to the old house.

I'd bought it after the passing, keeping it safe from stained energies and disrupted feelings, needing only the comfort of it's looming shadow on the horizon.

But today…today for some reason, my car stopped square in front of the door; my ice white fingers gripping the steering wheel and leaving their fragile-looking imprint.

I sigh because I know Edward will laugh and because he'll insist Rosalie fixes it, which means a month of special projects worth for her when she finally gets her hands on this dreaded thing.

I turn to the house, shoving Rosalie and Edward to the back of my thoughts.

It's presence overwhelms me, yellowed curtains still hanging on the old rod in the upstairs window. The shutters still daringly blue, a task he'd done not but a year before the news.

I draw in a deep breath and pull the handle of the car door, the soft click of it's opening deafening to my ears.

I step out, heels snapping dully on the wet asphalt; and I walk towards the door, fishing for my keys and finding the brass metal with my fingers almost instantaneously.

Then, taking a deep, unneeded breath, I slide the key into the lock and push it open.

It's like stepping into a time machine and blasting back ten years.

Ten fast, yet grueling years.

I turn on the lights and survey the kitchen, still feeling empty and the numb curiosity that has drifted itself into my steely veins goes un-sated.

That is, until I reach the bathroom.

I look inside before trekking to my old room, a plan that was unconscious, and I stop.

I stop because I see something unexpected, something I hadn't planned on coming across because really, who would expect that to be a trigger?

If my eyes could tear I knew they would be as I pushed the door open slowly, the green glass bottle askew on the porcelain sink.

The name…what was it?

My human memories are fuzzy but the scent is memorable, the scent was _him._

_Polo._

That was it. Polo.

The golden top and emblem flash under the light and I can see the dust particles still clinging to the surface. I wipe them away and finally pull the top, instantly getting the scent I already knew was contained within the emerald bottle.

One memory flashes through my thoughts and I hold it, remembering the exact day it had been.

It was after I had spent two weeks here, the summer between third grade.

I had been eight.

We were at a Wal-Mart claw machine, five dollars having already been spent uselessly on the damned thing. And I remember the Christmas Bear, clutched between metal claws and the look on my fathers face as he triumphed.

And I remember the bottle.

I was leaving, bags already packed and by the door when he called me into the bathroom, the bottle between the fingers of his fist.

"For you to remember me by, Bells."

And I remember the fragrance filling the air as he sprayed the bear that had been in my hands.

And I remember clinging to it fiercely for years after.

And keeping it a secret.

Our secret.

I slide the bottle into my purse and leave the room, bypassing my own and heading straight for the door, moving a little too fast for humans-sake, and I leave the house, locking it safely behind me.

--


End file.
